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The Canonization of a New York Saint
Let me tell you about the process of canonizing a Saint in New York.
First you need a Prince.
You can find him either in an Italian or in a Greek neighborhood. These men are all born princes. They live at home until they are 38 and then they get married to a woman who is just like their own Momma. Then the actual Momma spends the next 20 years training the wife to feed, clothe and clean for her precious son. These men can do NOTHING wrong, EVA. They are the Princes of the Family and the Neighborhood.
But then for some reason, life, fate, the gods, or whoever they have pissed off, decides they cannot abide with the Prince living anymore and thus removes them from the face of the Earth.
We now come to the second part of fulfilling their destiny to be canonized (remember, the first part is just being born): the Wake.
This is where all of the women present throw themselves on the Prince’s coffin, screaming, crying, sobbing, and clutching their rather ample bosoms, while crying “WHY, OH DEAR GOD, WHY DID YOU TAKE HIM?!” At some point the women who have finally calmed down enough mutter “He was a Saint”. The rest of these women’s lives will be filled with stories of their poor dead husbands’ or sons’ amazing feats, their contributions to society and the wondrous way in which they treated their Mommas and wives.
They will forever more be… Saints.
And every once in a GREAT while, never more than once in a generation and NEVER more than once per family, a Princess is born. Same rules apply to this blessed woman of all and everything.
Here are the stories of two such New York Saints; one Prince, and one Princess.
Joey… anyone who knew Joey knew that the only place that boy belonged was in a box (granted, a $15,000 casket) buried 8 feet down (and granted, he was not really buried because his Momma spent $85,000 on a crypt). He was a son of a bitch. In every sense of the word. He would scream, curse, and, on occasion, spit at his mother when his food was not cooked right. When he got married he beat his wife as casually as you and I might yell at an obnoxious pet. When his second-born daughter was 4 months old he picked her up by her ankle, dangled her over the crib and screamed at his wife for not producing a son. Then he beat her up again. Well, Joey finally opened his mouth once too often, as these assholes are prone to do in all the wrong places, and was shot to death in his car in front of his wife, who to this day is deaf in her left ear. But she will never remarry. Why would she? She was married to a friggin’ Saint.
Next up we have Sophie… She was a cunt. Over the course of her 32 years she had five of her men arrested when they had done NOTHING wrong, she milked her parents out of their $300,000 life savings, and when her grandmother lay dying she stole the poor old woman’s pain meds. Not to mention that she also stole all of the woman’s jewelry and sold it for smack. She abandoned her four kids (from four different men) several times until her brother got so disgusted with everything that he took the kids and left for the great unknown. She would only fuck married men and she set one woman up for a bad check charge. Sophie finally met a married woman who would not put up with her shit and ran her ass over with her Cadillac Deville. Go to Sophie’s parents’ house and you will find out that the only bad person in this whole story is the brother for disappearing with the kids. They curse him for taking them away from their daughter, the Saint.
Now, at one point, I may have been a little naïve to think that this business of glorifying people after they’re dead and gone is a phenomenon known mostly to a New Yorker, but apparently it’s not. I may also have mistakenly believed that it is a phenomenon known mostly to Italians, Greeks and Jews. But it’s not. It runs rampant all over this country.
Take people who hang out at our message board, for example.
They have taken a normal, healthy, young girl, who probably got herself into a situation she should not have, and have turned her into a mini-Saint. And the only reason she’s just a mini-saint, as opposed to a full out bonafide one, is because they lack the Mediterranean genes necessary to fully carry out her canonization.
Was Natalee Holloway, the missing Aruba teen, a Saint? No. Was she a bad person? No. She was a normal, American girl. Was her death horrific and should the boys who confess to being the last with her be made to pay? Come on, you guys know me by now.
What you cannot do is to take her life and turn it into something it was not. At the end of the day, do we as women have the right to go on vacation or out to clubs with our friends and get laid? Hell yeah! At the same time, if you don’t know who you are fucking around with, and you are in an unknown place, then to proceed with anything less then absolute caution is foolish. So, while I think these guys should have the rest of their lives ruined, I don’t want to hear about her innocence. She wasn’t that innocent. She got mixed up with the wrong people, she paid the price, and, yes, it’s horrible. We are one woman short in the World because of it.
That sucks. But don’t turn her into Saint Natalee.
Most dead people are sadly just that - dead.
TTR
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